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It is the first and last thing I see in these endless days in the Reef.
Though, calling them days would be incorrect, giving implication there is a night. The sun is ever-present in this stygian twilight, washing the asteroids and shells of travel alike - the only sources of shadow - in a pallor only befitting of their remains.
But here is home. We made it here among the rock and metal, and the way the shrapnel glints in our skies is as beloved as the stars. I would gladly give everything if it meant that it would be kept safe and ours. My life for the Queen, my body for the Awoken.
The dustfall of a ship entering the hangar draws my attention back to my post. A galliot, but one that looks as though it has seen the worst of a solar wind as it travelled through a comet’s trail, all faded metal and dents. One of ours? No. No Corsair or Vestian would allow their galliot to fall into such a state. It is abhorrent and disgraceful. This was someone else.
She steps out among the twilit motes, and I see a flash of royal fuchsia made bright in the dusky light. A pretender. She is one of the first I deign to see from that ignoble tower, and there will be many others who come to pander, seeking reward they no doubt deem exotic. There is nothing here for them to demystify. This home is not theirs. But I will respect my Queen’s decision.
The dead thing turns to look out over the asteroid field, back towards the sun reflected in her domed helmet, and dares to appear wistful there in her tattered robes, dirty, ripped, faded, and in some spots even rotten. Outdated and distasteful. I wonder what wreck had she desecrated to obtain them when a second ship is ushered in.
She removes her helmet, and white locks fall around her blue face. Awoken. Claiming to be one of our own.
“Ceres.” A soft, almost whispered greeting intended for the emerged Exo whose echo reaches my ears. It stays there, ringing.
She turns, and I see something gold and familiar glint off her lapel: the Queen’s emblem, its luster somehow not dinged as the rest of her garb. It cannot be. I refuse to believe, and yet I find myself unable to neglect the thought that, perhaps, there is a truth here. The Queen herself had brought all the Reef had to offer at the time of the Scatter, and that had been the start of the casualties. Her own Guard and Army would not have hesitated for an instant to throw themselves in front of her if it meant her survival.
“Altan.” A reply open and familiar.
The dead thing and her companion make to depart the bay, and for a moment I wonder. For so long, our Reef has been closed to the outside, and those we have lost have been unable to return to its shores. Maybe this here, right now, is not an intrusion but a homecoming. Perhaps there are others still out there who once responded to the Queen’s call and will, for a second time, return to her side. Perhaps I should admire this sense of duty undying. Perhaps I should be ready to receive them.
The Guardians’ stride carries purpose but little wonder, their objective to them clear and mundane, however new or otherwise they found their surroundings. I meet the Awoken’s golden eyes. “The Reef opens its arms to you. Welcome home, Guardian.”
She looks back at me and blinks. “I live to serve.”
With a small bow, I open the doors and watch their backs as they disappear into the Vestian Outpost, and I look back toward the sun.